The memory vanished, and I slowly opened my eyes. They felt sore, dry, and faintly burning. How long had it been since I'd cried?

Years.

In prison, I'd cried until there was nothing left. The prison doctor once told me my tear glands had been permanently damaged.

"You'll probably never cry normally again."

At the time, I hadn't cared. There was nothing left worth crying over.

I turned toward the window. The street outside was unfamiliar, lined with luxury restaurants and upscale storefronts.

Before I could ask where we were, the car door opened and bright sunlight flooded the interior.

A familiar figure appeared.

Alaric.

My husband.

Eight years had passed, yet he looked exactly the same. Tall, handsome, powerful, his sharp features still carrying the confidence of a man who could alter countless lives with a single command.

A smile spread across his face when he saw me.

"Olivia," he said warmly. "Hurry up and get out."

He extended a hand toward me.

"Marga spent all day preparing a welcome party for you. You're the only one we're waiting for."

The words almost made me laugh.

Alaric was still the same. Gentle, patient, and kind.

At least when it came to Margaret.

His hand settled naturally on my shoulder, and my body stiffened immediately.

Before I could move away, a cheerful voice rang out nearby.

"Olivia!"

The moment Margaret appeared, I noticed Alaric quietly remove his hand from my shoulder, as if he'd been caught doing something wrong.

I lowered my eyes.

Yeah, right.

Margaret hurried over, her eyes already red and shining with tears. Before I could avoid her, she grabbed my hand.

"Olivia," she said in a trembling voice, "I'm sorry about everything that happened before. I know I've hurt you, I killed your brother and I've regretted it every day. I really wanted to apologize properly."

I didn't respond.

The atmosphere instantly became awkward.

Margaret bit her lip, looking even more pitiful than before.

As expected, Alaric stepped in."Marga got up before sunrise today," he said, his expression softening immediately. "She spent the whole day choosing a venue and decorating everything herself."

Margaret quickly shook her head. "Alaric, don't say that."

But he ignored her protest. "She hasn't even eaten yet," his gaze fixed on her. "She was worried everything wouldn't be perfect."

Only then did he look at me.

"Olivia, she's genuinely trying to apologize."

"I really am," Margaret added immediately.

Together, they made it sound like I was the unreasonable one, like eight years in prison had been nothing more than a misunderstanding.

Nobody asked how I'd survived.

Nobody asked what prison had done to me.

Nobody asked how many nights I'd cried myself to sleep or how it felt to be framed for my brother's death.

Nobody cared.

All they cared about was whether Margaret felt guilty enough.

I was about to say something when Alaric suddenly grabbed my wrist.

"Come on," he said.

Without waiting for my response, he led me toward the restaurant.

Before we even stepped inside, voices drifted through the door. They were loud, clear, and impossible to ignore.

"If it wasn't for Alaric and Marga, I wouldn't even be here. Imagine throwing a welcome party for a murderer."

Someone snorted.

"Right? What exactly are we celebrating? The fact that she got away with killing her own brother?"

A burst of laughter followed.

My fingers slowly curled into my palms.

"I warned Alaric years ago," another person said. "A girl from that kind of background was never going to be clean."

"Exactly."

"I heard her brother abused and fucking rape her for years. Since she was little all the way through high school."

My chest tightened.

Every word was a lie, but they kept talking.

"They said she finally snapped and killed him."

"That's not even the worst part." The speaker lowered their voice dramatically. "I heard she also killed her parents because they always favored the older brother."

"What?! Really?"

"Yeah. Apparently she hated them. Then suddenly they died in a car accident. Tell me that's not suspicious."

"I knew it."

"God, she's terrifying."

The rumors grew louder and more confident, as though repeating a lie often enough could somehow make it true. Nobody mentioned that my brother had never touched me. Nobody mentioned that my parents died because their brakes failed. Nobody mentioned that Margaret was the one who had spent years feeding these stories to anyone willing to listen.

Why would they?

The truth was boring.

The lie was entertaining.

Beside me, Alaric suddenly froze. His expression darkened, and a second later he wrapped an arm around me. One hand covered my ear while the other pulled me tightly against his chest.

It was a familiar gesture.

For years, whenever rumors surfaced about my family, whenever I broke down crying, Alaric would do exactly this. He'd shield me from the world, hold me close, and promise everything would be okay. Back then, I believed he was my safe place. My protector. My home.

Funny, wasn't it?

The man who had taught the world to stab me was now trying to shield me from the knife.

The trembling he expected never came.

Slowly, I lifted my hands. Prison had left them thin and bony. Without hesitation, I pushed him away.

Alaric stared at me. His eyes widened slightly, and for a moment I saw shock, confusion, maybe even hurt.

I knew exactly what he was thinking.

There was a time when hearing those rumors would've destroyed me. There was a time when he was the one who comforted me.

“Nobody's gonna hurt you again, Liv. I'll protect you. I swear on my life.”

And I had believed every word but now, I didn't need his protection anymore.

Something shifted in Alaric's expression. For a brief moment, he looked almost suffocated. Then anger flashed across his face, directed not at me but at the people inside.

The next second, he kicked the restaurant door open.

The loud bang silenced the entire room.

Everyone immediately turned pale.

Alaric stepped inside like a storm, tall, broad-shouldered, and terrifying. The room suddenly remembered why he was feared.

His cold gaze swept across the room.

"If you've got something to say, say it in front of me."

Nobody answered.

His voice turned colder. "Olivia's my wife."

The room remained silent.

"She didn't ask for any of the shit that's happened to her. So if you've got a problem with her, bring it to me."

Nobody moved.

"What happened? You people were talking pretty damn loudly a minute ago."

Several guests lowered their heads.

"Don't want to be here? Then leave. Nobody's forcing you."

The pressure in the room became suffocating.

"And if I hear anyone talking behind her back again, we're gonna have a different conversation."

That finally shut everyone up.

Across the room, Margaret's smile nearly cracked. For a split second, jealousy flashed across her eyes before she quickly buried it beneath a pitiful expression.

Picking up a glass of wine, she walked toward us.

"Alaric..." she said softly.

Instantly, his expression softened.

Margaret stopped in front of me carrying two glasses.

"I know I've made mistakes to Olivia," she said, her voice trembling. "I really do." She raised one glass and emptied it in a single gulp before placing the second in front of me. "I never wanted things to turn out like this."

A tear slid down her cheek.

"I just wanted everyone to get along." She bit her lip. "I've been carrying guilt for eight years. Please..." Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. "Can you forgive me?"

The entire room watched, waiting, and watching me as if I were the villain.

As if I were the cruel one.

As if I was supposed to comfort the woman whose lies had destroyed my life.

Slowly, I lowered my gaze to the glass.

Before I could say anything, several people nearby immediately spoke up.

"What is her problem? Marga already apologized so sincerely. She's practically begging for forgiveness. What more does Olivia want?"

Another person scoffed. "We didn't come here tonight to watch Marga get bullied."

"Exactly. Marga stayed by Alaric's side for three whole years and didn't even care about her own reputation. And this is the thanks she gets?"

Their voices grew louder with every sentence, painting me as the unreasonable one, the villain who refused to appreciate Margaret's generosity. I lowered my eyes and remained silent.

Across from me, Margaret bit her lip and looked on the verge of tears. Alaric glanced at her before turning to me, his jaw tightening.

Finally, he reached over and took the wine glass from Margaret's hand. Without a word, he held it in front of me.

"Olivia," he said in a low voice, calm but unmistakably dangerous, "be good. Don't make this into a bigger scene than it already is."

I almost laughed.

A scene?

Who exactly was making a scene here?

Me, or the woman who destroyed my life and was now performing innocence in front of an audience?

When I still didn't take the glass, Alaric leaned closer. His breath brushed against my ear.

"You haven't seen your grandfather in years."

My body froze instantly.

Alaric noticed.

A flicker of satisfaction crossed his eyes.

"Drink it," he said, softening his tone slightly. "Be good for me, Liv."

Then came the threat hidden beneath the gentleness.

"Drink this glass, and I'll personally take you to see your grandfather afterward."

My throat tightened.

Grandfather was the only family I had left.

The only person who still mattered.

For a moment, I stared at the wine as the dark liquid swayed inside the glass. A metallic taste suddenly rose into my throat, but I didn't hesitate any longer. I took the glass from Alaric's hand and drank every drop.

The atmosphere immediately relaxed.

Conversations resumed.

People laughed again.

Everyone looked pleased, as though I'd finally learned my lesson and become obedient enough to satisfy them.

At that moment, Alaric peeled a shrimp for Margaret and placed it onto her plate. Margaret smiled sweetly, then suddenly picked up the plate and walked over to me.

Without a word, she held a shrimp in front of my face.

"Olivia," she said warmly, "since we're friends now, have a bite. This is imported shrimp. It costs over a thousand dollars."

I stared at the shrimp.

For a moment, I genuinely thought I was hallucinating.

Alaric knew.

He knew I was allergic to seafood.

Years ago, when we were still dating, I'd nearly died after accidentally eating shrimp at a company banquet. He'd stayed beside my hospital bed for three straight days without sleeping. He knew every ingredient I couldn't eat. He used to remove seafood from dishes before they ever reached me.

Yet now he sat there watching Margaret offer me shrimp.

I almost laughed.

Had he forgotten? Or did he simply not care anymore?

When I didn't move, Alaric's expression darkened. "If you don't eat it, I'll shove it into your mouth myself," he said coldly.

The room immediately fell silent.

Margaret stepped forward and said softly, "Alaric, don't be angry. Olivia, I just want us to be friends again. That's all I've ever wanted."

Before I could react, she pushed the shrimp closer.

My entire body froze as a memory surfaced without warning. In prison, several inmates had laughed while one of them mixed crab meat into my food despite knowing I was allergic. I remembered the suffocating pain that followed, the ambulance ride, the six days I spent confined to a hospital bed, and the internal bleeding so severe that doctors had nearly rushed me into emergency surgery.

Alaric knew all of that.

He had received the medical reports.

He knew exactly what seafood could do to me.

Yet neither he nor Margaret stopped.

The shrimp touched my lips. Instinctively, I tried to turn away.

"Try spitting it out," Alaric said quietly while looking directly into my eyes. "If you do, your grandfather will spend the rest of the year alone. Don't test my patience, Olivia."

My body went rigid.

Margaret smiled sadly as though she were the victim. "Olivia, please. I'm trying so hard to make things right between us."

I looked at the shrimp, then at Alaric, then at Margaret. Slowly, I opened my mouth.

Margaret immediately pushed the shrimp inside.

The room visibly relaxed. Several guests even smiled as though they had just witnessed a touching reconciliation instead of humiliation.

I chewed, swallowed, and sat there in silence.

"There," Margaret said happily. "See? Now we're friends again. I knew you'd forgive me eventually."

Laughter rippled through the room.

Margaret continued placing shrimp onto my plate while Alaric peeled more for her. He never stopped her. In fact, he calmly peeled one shrimp after another and placed them in front of me.

"Eat," Alaric ordered. "Marga prepared this dinner for you. Don't waste her effort."

So I ate.

One shrimp after another disappeared from my plate. Each bite felt like swallowing shards of glass. Nobody noticed. Or maybe nobody cared.

Especially not Alaric.

His attention remained fixed on Margaret.

"Eat more," he told her gently while placing another peeled shrimp onto her plate. "You barely touched your food all day. You'll get sick if you keep neglecting yourself."

Margaret smiled shyly. "Thank you, Alaric. You're always taking care of me."

The tenderness in his voice used to belong to me.

Now it belonged to someone else.

My stomach began twisting violently. The pain was familiar, sharp, burning, and dangerous. Sweat dampened my back while the room slowly started spinning around me.

Across the table, Margaret was still smiling.

"Olivia, let's eat together," she said while lifting another shrimp toward me. "After tonight, we'll put everything behind us."

I looked at the food and felt my stomach lurch. Something surged up my throat. My breathing stopped and a sharp pain exploded through my chest.

I coughed!

Blood burst from my mouth.

Bright red blood splattered across the tablecloth.

The entire room froze.

Someone screamed. Chairs scraped violently across the floor. And Margaret's face turned white.

Alaric reacted instantly. Without hesitation, he stepped in front of Margaret, and the blood splashed across his white shirt.

His first instinct had always been to protect her.

Not me.

Never me.

That was my final thought before darkness swallowed everything.

My body collapsed backward, and the last thing I heard was someone shouting my name.

"Olivia!"

When I opened my eyes again, everything around me was white.

White walls. White ceiling. The sharp smell of disinfectant.

My head throbbed, and my stomach felt as though it had been carved open from the inside.

Beside the bed, Alaric sat silently.

The moment he noticed I was awake, whatever concern had been on his face vanished.

"You really went all out tonight," he said coldly. "If you didn't want to eat the shrimp, you could've just said so."

I stared at him.

Alaric crossed his arms and let out a bitter laugh. "But coughing up blood? That's a new one. I didn't realize you'd become this desperate for attention."

My heart sank.

"You think I faked it?" I asked.

My own voice sounded rough, broken, almost unfamiliar.

For some reason, the question made him frown.

His gaze lingered on me.

Because this wasn't the Olivia he remembered.

The old Olivia smiled.

The old Olivia spoke softly.

The old Olivia looked at him as if he hung the moon.

That woman no longer existed.

His eyes slowly drifted downward. The hospital gown hung loosely on my frame. My wrists were frighteningly thin and my cheeks were hollow.

Prison had taken almost everything from me.

I watched realization slowly settle across his face.

Earlier, when he'd carried me into the ambulance, he must have noticed it too.

I was too light.

Like there was barely anything left of me.

He sighed and sat back down beside my hospital bed. His large hand reached for mine, his palm warm against my ice-cold skin as he gently covered the back of my hand, almost as if he was trying to warm me up.

"Olivia, I know you're angry," he said softly. "But I've already completed three of the six promises I made to Marga. There are only three left, and once I finish them, everything will finally be over."

I stared at the ceiling without speaking.

For the first time that day, there was genuine anticipation in his voice.

"I'll finally be able to put the past behind me," he continued. "Then it'll just be us. No more complications, no more obligations, no more people standing between us."

His expression softened as he leaned closer.

"You always wanted to leave New York, remember? You used to tell me you wanted a quiet life surrounded by flowers. I'll buy an estate overseas, a huge one, and I'll fill every corner with flowers if that's what you want. You won't have to worry about anything ever again because I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

The future he described sounded beautiful.

Peaceful.

Like a dream.

The problem was that I didn't care anymore.

The woman who would've cried from happiness hearing those promises had died eight years ago.

After a long silence, I finally asked, "Where's Grandpa?"

Alaric froze.

The smile disappeared from his face.

For a brief moment, he looked caught off guard.

Before he could answer, the ward door suddenly burst open.

"Alaric, Marga's sick again," a bodyguard said anxiously. "She suddenly started feeling unwell and keeps asking for you."

Everything about Alaric changed instantly.

The concern in his eyes.

The tension in his posture.

The urgency in his voice.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"We're not sure yet. She said she feels dizzy and her stomach hurts."

Before the bodyguard even finished speaking, Alaric was already standing.

The hand covering mine disappeared.

So did its warmth.

"I'll go check on her," he said.

That was all.

No answer to my question.

No reassurance.

Not even a glance back.

He simply walked out of the room.

The door closed behind him.

I stared at the empty doorway and let out a cold laugh.

Of course.

What exactly had I been expecting?

A few minutes later, the ward door opened again.

This time, it was a nurse.

She looked around nervously before hurrying toward my bed.

"Miss Olivia, did you offend someone powerful?" she asked quietly. "You were seriously injured, but someone ordered us to give your husband a fake medical report."

My fingers tightened around the blanket.

"A fake report?"

She nodded and handed me a folder.

"The report shown to your husband only mentioned a minor allergic reaction. This one is your real diagnosis."

I lowered my eyes to the pages.

At first, the words blurred together.

Then they became clear.

Severe stomach damage.

Foreign objects found in the stomach.

Immediate surgery recommended.

My hand trembled.

"There are multiple foreign objects inside your stomach," the nurse explained. "Small stones, metal fragments, and signs of long-term internal damage. They need to be removed immediately."

The room fell silent.

After a while, I asked, "How bad is my throat?"

The nurse's expression darkened.

"The old injuries never healed properly," she admitted. "Whoever did that to you caused permanent damage."

I closed my eyes.

Immediately, the memories returned.

My first month in prison.

Several inmates cornering me in the cafeteria.

Forcing my mouth open while laughing.

Shoving food mixed with stones and metal fragments down my throat.

I remembered choking.

Vomiting blood.

Begging them to stop but nobody came and nobody helped.

That day, I truly thought I was going to die.

The nurse left shortly afterward, leaving me alone with the report.

As I stared blankly at the pages, another memory surfaced.

Years ago, before everything fell apart, a thief had stolen my bag. During the struggle, my leg was slashed by a knife. The wound wasn't even serious, yet when Alaric saw it, he looked as though his entire world had collapsed.

"Fuck, I should've protected you better," he'd said while carrying me home. "Does it hurt? Tell me where it hurts, Olivia. I'll call every doctor in the city if I have to."

After that, he personally picked me up from work every day. Even if it meant driving fifty minutes out of his way.

Even during storms and winter... He never complained.

Not once.

Back then, I truly believed he loved me.

Now, looking at the report in my hands, I could only laugh at myself.

I was the idiot.

The biggest idiot in the world. How could I have believed a man when he promised to love me forever?

The surgery had to be performed immediately.

But I didn't have the money.

Every dollar I'd earned before prison was still under Alaric's control.

So I called him.

The moment he answered, I got straight to the point.

"I need surgery," I said. "The doctors found foreign objects inside my stomach, and they need to operate immediately."

Alaric laughed. "Olivia, are you seriously still doing this?" he asked. "I'm already dealing with enough problems right now. Can't you stop making trouble for one damn day?"

I gripped the phone tighter.

"I'm serious, Alaric. The doctor said there are stones and metal fragments inside my stomach."

"Stop," he snapped immediately. "The medical report is already sitting on my desk. You had an allergic reaction, that's all. Now you're telling me you suddenly need surgery? What's next? Are you going to tell me you're dying too?"

My chest tightened painfully.

Then another voice drifted through the phone.

Margaret.

"Alaric, my stomach hurts."

Everything about him changed instantly.